


As You Wish (You're The Prince)

by TheSilverQueen



Category: A Royal Affair (2012), Ella Enchanted (2004), Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom
Genre: #EatTheRare, Age Difference, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Inspired by Princess Diaries 2, M/M, Mention of King Arthur (2004), Plot What Plot, The Princess Bride References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 18:49:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8025055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSilverQueen/pseuds/TheSilverQueen
Summary: When Mia Thermopolis begins inviting princes because parliament says she needs a husband to rule, Prince Charmont sets off for Genovia. He’s accompanied by his guardian and doctor, Johann Friedrich Struensee, who – surprise surprise – isn’t exactly in a hurry to see the two marry. Mia, meanwhile, finds that she prefers the role of matchmaker to bride-to-be.AKA the Princess Diaries AU that legit NOBODY asked for





	As You Wish (You're The Prince)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution to Hannibal Cre-Ate-Ive's awesome [#EatTheRare event](http://hannibalcreative.tumblr.com/post/147505188389/the-hannibal-fandom-is-not-only-a-creative-and)! It was inspired by a discussion in the Cannipal Cinema telegram group over what films we should watch next, and someone brought up Princess Bride after we'd just seen Ella Enchanted, and that sorted melded together in my muse's mind until we ended up with this. Also I found it just a tad amusing that Anne Hathaway was in Ella Enchanted and Princess Diaries but that could just be me.
> 
> You do not need to know anything about The Princess Diaries, Ella Enchanted, A Royal Affair, or King Arthur to read this fic. 
> 
> Finally, if you are searching for any semblance of reasonable plot, you will be disappointed. I emphasize again: there is NO plot in this whatsoever. There is also a mention of the age difference between Char and Johann, so if you're someone who doesn't like 20-30 years of age difference between characters, please keep that in mind.

“You’re the prince of Kyrria,” are the first words out of Johann’s mouth when all the luggage has been set down and all the guards have bowed out.

Char, though, little demon that he is, merely grins from where he’s half buried under the covers and wriggles more firmly onto the pillow, ignoring the reminder as though every etiquette tutor he’s ever had never taught him a single useful lesson in his life. To be perfectly fair, though, Johann says those exact five words almost constantly. They were even the first words Char ever said to him, when he arrived due the frantic summoning of palace courtiers and parliamentary members, all concerned when the grieving young prince deliberately vanished from his minders during his parents’ funeral and hadn’t been coaxed out in days. 

In some ways, Char is still that grieving boy, deep inside, when he turns solemn and steady, but Johann likes to think that he brightens up Char’s day, when he can.

“Aw, come on,” Char says, muffled by the copious amounts of blankets and pillows he’s managed to tug into a sort of velvet nest. “It’s not like anyone is looking.”

“First lesson of princehood,” Johann tuts, “everyone is always looking.”

Johann’s tone is severe, but he’s been with Char since the prince was under a decade old. Char knows every single tone of his voice intimately, and so that is why the little demon only grins upside down at him instead of rushing to fix his mess. 

“It’s just you,” Char points out. “You won’t judge me, will you?”

And, well. It’s not like Johann can rebuke that. How could he ever judge this beautiful, brilliant creature as anything less than the loveliest, most precious thing Johann’s ever seen? So he merely sighs and goes to sit by his prince, beginning the painstaking process of returning the riot of curls into some sort of order.

“I will not, but I am not everyone who is here,” Johann says. “You are going to be judged, my prince. And not everyone will have a kind word for you, even with those puppy eyes you are so fond of flashing.”

Char scoffs, but Johann can tell he’s nervous. Of course he is. The boy’s never even so much as kissed a girl, and now he’s been invited to Genovia to play a part in what is essentially a fast-paced husband-finding adventure. Johann argued against it, pointing out that Char is the only heir to the throne and it won’t be easy to reconcile Genovia and Kyrria, but parliament had stood firm that to send anything less than the prince was to insult an old ally, and Kyrria needed allies. So the decision had been made, the order had been passed to Char, and now, here they were, in a foreign land with half the world’s eyes on the entire spectacle. Personally, Johann wants to kidnap Char and bring him far away from this mess, but his duty is to both the prince and the country, and even he knows that a show of friendship can only help Char when he rises to his own throne one day.

Char wriggles out from beneath the blankets and flops across Johann’s shoulder. The experience is not unlike a puppy, now fully grown, having not realized that he is too large for his favorite laying spot. “But you’ll be there, right?” Char says, tucking his nose into Johann’s neck with a sigh. 

“Of course.” There is nowhere he would rather be than by his prince’s side.

“Then I have nothing to fear,” Char declares.

Johann closes his arms around his prince and hugs him tight. If he could, he would shield Char with his arms always, so that not a single bit of hurt in the world could touch this precious creature, but, unfortunately, such is not the case. All he can settle for is trust in his own skill and determination to carry out the necessary justice to anyone who would dare harm his prince.

“Nothing to fear at all indeed,” Johann echoes.

* * *

The first test of Johann’s patience – and Char’s good-natured attitude – is, surprisingly enough, not the banquet, but the ball that follows it.

The banquet is lovely. Even to Johann’s standards, the food is a good high standard. Not as good as what he could have produced, perhaps, but fitting for a large gathering of royals and admirers over the birthday of a rising heiress. Char does his duty, sitting still and carrying on polite conversation and sampling the best bits of food as the plates are passed around.

That’s not to say he doesn’t cause trouble, of course.

About halfway through, a servant appears and hands Johann a note, covered in Char’s familiar scrawl. _I want your chicken soup._

Johann sighs, but he can’t stop the inward smile. “Chicken soup” is what Char insists on calling the silkie chicken in a broth with wolfberries, ginseng, ginger, red dates, and star anise that Johann makes on occasion, and generally only when his prince demands it. It was how Johann had first lured out the little prince from where he’d hidden in the attic, placing a bowl next to himself and eating, waiting for Char to emerge like he’d coax out any reluctant kitten on the street. Char had eaten some, and then challenged that it tasted nothing like his mother’s, and Johann had responded that he didn’t intend to replace Char’s mother, which seemed to be the magic words, as far as Char had been concerned. 

Johann writes, _You are eating the finest dessert that Genovia can produce, little prince, eat it and be content,_ and sends the note back.

Char replies, _It tastes like pear._

To that, Johann sends no response. There’s no need. Char needed a familiar voice, and Johann supplied it, and now it is done. Johann would not raise anything less than a self-sufficient prince.

The ball, though, warrants a much higher standard of comfort than the banquet. At the ball, countless ladies, drawn to Char’s glowing smile, fall all over him to request dances, and despite his impulsiveness, Char understands royal duties enough to know that it’s very impolite to refuse, so Johann watches with a heavy heart as lady after lady spins around the floor with Char, tittering and giggling as Char pretends to be enamored.

One day, a lady just like that will start dancing with Char, and Char will be actually enamored, and their dance will begin as Johann’s dance with Char ends. It will be a sad day, indeed.

His musings are interrupted when his prince sidles up to him and bumps his shoulder. If they were in public, Johann knows, he would have ignored etiquette and simply slumped over Johann’s back, taking shelter in the familiar, but here, in public, Char is content with the way Johann allows their arms to remain pressed together.

“Are you enjoying playing the lead, my prince?”

Char sighs. “They all think I’m a puppy.”

“Well, you do have a large pack, whom you play with as enthusiastically as though you are a puppy yourself,” Johann returns, and Char grins so unrepentantly that one would never guess the struggle that Johann has to ensure his formal clothes remain mostly free of dog fur.

“I need your help,” Char says abruptly. “I think Princess Mia needs rescuing.”

And indeed, perhaps she does, given the way her current dance partner keeps reaching all over her back, and Johann, for the second time, has to hold back a smile. He has taught his prince well about remaining aware of his surroundings.

Still. He is not Char’s tutor for nothing. “That is not the correct way to address her, my prince,” Johann reminds him.

“Are you going to help me or not?”

“You are, as ever, the prince of Kyrria.”

* * *

Prince Char is incredibly cute, Mia thinks, for all that his name is a mouthful. His cuteness only increases when he intercuts with Prince Frederick and twirls off with him, leaving a deeply amused older man to take Mia’s hand instead.

“Your Highness,” the man says with a bow.

She curtseys, or tries to, but the man seems not to be bothered. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”

“Dr. Johann Friedrich Struensee of Kyrria,” he says, and Mia is really, really tempted to ask if the entire Kyrria delegation has long mouthfuls of names, but she also really, really doesn’t want to piss off yet another royal, so she just accepts it.

“Are you related to Prince Char?”

“Not in the sense that you are thinking,” the doctor replies, leading with firm steps and easy to read cues. “I was engaged as his tutor and mentor. I have been with him for many years.”

“So did his sense of humor come from you or his parents?”

The doctor’s mouth twitches, and Mia realizes it’s a smile only when the doctor actually turns them to glance over at Char with adoration in his eyes. “My prince’s secrets are mine to guard,” he says, but that’s not what Mia hears.

Mia hears _love_ and _devotion_ and _protection_ , the same way she hears it in Joe’s voice when he speaks about her grandmother. Mia hears the unwavering faith of someone who’ll never give up and never leave, someone who has no eyes for anyone except one person. Mia hears an opportunity, and well, it’s not like her to pass up on opportunities. 

When the dance cues, everyone switches partners. Mia goes off with Prince Francis, Char ends up dancing with a smiling lady, and the doctor heads straight for Prince Frederick. Mia doesn’t hear what he says, but she doesn’t have too. 

Char had winced when he had left the man’s arms, and Mia had seen the way the doctor had cocked his head.

Prince Frederick leaves with a pale face and a limp to match the bruising on Mia and Char’s feet.

* * *

“Tell me a story.”

Johann raises an eyebrow, although the effect is probably negated by the fact that he’s allowing his prince to sprawl so unprince-like all over his lap. The dance is over, and Char’s midnight snack of chicken soup – passable, but Johann had had limited ingredients to work with in a foreign kitchen – is drained and abandoned on the table. The prince had started out in a self-satisfied, self-contained curl of blankets on the other side of the window seat, but the warm soup and quiet atmosphere have tilted his balance until he snuggled up against Johann, who’s gotten as far as taking off his tie and not any farther.

“You should be getting ready to sleep.”

Char yawns, but he remains insistent. “I still want a story. It’ll probably put me right to sleep anyway.”

Johann concedes, but it’s less for words Char speaks and more for the speaker. It is essentially how his normal rationalization for anything related to Char goes. 

“Shall we hear of Galahad and Tristan again, and the Knights of the Round Table?”

Twenty minutes later, Char is sound asleep, as promised and as planned. Johann takes his precious bundle of prince and ferries him to bed, as he’s done many times, although nowadays it’s a little bit harder because Char is bigger than the first time Johann ever did it. But still, no matter the struggle, Char never wakes, and Johann relishes this quiet time when his prince shows the extent of his absolute trust.

Many people, perhaps, would call Char an angel at this moment, sleeping so soundly and beautifully, but Johann wouldn’t. Angels were created to be warriors, and whatever kind of king Char will be, a warrior is not it.

No, Char is a siren, beautiful and deadly all at once, without ever needing to lift a finger. One word from that lovely voice, and the world is spellbound at his feet.

“And in the end, Tristan loved Galahad very much, until the end of his days,” Johann whispers, and kisses his prince good night.

* * *

The coronation ball goes much, much better than the birthday ball. For example, Mia doesn’t have to dance with every available bachelor this time, just the ones she wants to. Out of all of them, though, Char’s smile is probably the brightest when he bows to her and they begin to dance. 

Under, of course, the watchful eyes of Dr. Johann, who lurks in the shadows with a glass of wine and the eyes of a hawk.

And Mia decides, well, why not stop at one wedding?

“So is Dr. Johann your bodyguard or your mentor or fiancé?” Mia asks.

Char is so startled he nearly trips over his feet mid step, and Mia, for once, takes the lead to steady them before he regains his balance. “My what?” he splutters.

“Well, he never takes his eyes off you, and whenever you’re around he’s always smiling,” Mia points out.

Char smiles at that, but it’s clearly a forced one. “Johann’s been my best friend for a long time,” he explains. “He just gets . . . overprotective. The last time someone tried to assassinate me he leaped over a table and broke the man’s neck. He’s just happier when I’m near him because that makes me easier to protect.”

“Overprotective,” Mia muses, “or in love?”

“ _What?!_ ”

“Hey, I’m not judging. He’s a good man, right? And he cooks and he’s a doctor and he won’t let anyone hurt you. Seems kinda cool to me.”

“He’s . . . he’s just a friend. A really good one.”

Mia switches tactics. Time for the stick. “Have you ever seen the Princess Bride?”

“Um, yeah.”

“I bet the good doctor never ever stops saying, ‘as you wish’.”

All the color drains out of Char’s face. The dance ends, fittingly, right then and there, but when Char makes to head straight for the door, Mia hugs him tight and whispers, “Just because I didn’t get my happy ending right now doesn’t mean you shouldn’t, Char.”

“I’m not in love with – I mean – I don’t – ”

Mia smiles at the wilted prince in front of her and says, “Go get him, Prince Charmont of Kyrria.”

* * *

“Why do you always say, ‘you’re the prince’?”

Johann looks up from his books and blinks, thrown. Partly because he only just managed to hide his sketches, and partly because Char’s never ever asked that question before, and when he was a child, Char asked a _lot_ of questions.

“Because that is your station, and sometimes you need reminding of it,” he answers finally. “What’s brought this on, my prince?”

Char bristles all over, as though he’s a cat whose fur Johann’s pet all the wrong way. Cute, but a sign of an impending indignant mew, possibly with a little claw scratch to match. “You never said it until after we watched The Princess Bride.”

“Or maybe you did not notice until then,” Johann retorts, leaning back in his chair. “You were a young when you watched it.”

It’s a lie, and they both know it. Char was almost seventeen when they first saw the movie, after months and months of nagging and nagging. Johann had finally given him mainly to shut him up, although he’d insisted on bringing his own popcorn and butter for the prince to enjoy. It’s a fond memory, even if it did end up sticky kernels all over Char’s clothes.

“Or maybe,” Char says, softly with eyes alight, “maybe you just didn’t want me to notice.”

“Notice what?”

Char doesn’t answer.

Probably because Char takes the initiative and just goes for it, grabbing Johann’s shoulders and kissing him like his life’s depending on it, pressing them so close for a moment it’s like they are one soul, coming back together after a long wait and finding that, astonishingly, all of their jagged edges and little twirls still fit perfectly together like two puzzle pieces.

“I know, I know, that was rude, I should’ve asked, but – ”

“Char,” Johann interrupts.

“ . . . Yes?”

Johann puts his hand on his lovely prince’s face, and feels like his heart will burst with the joy inside of it. This beautiful siren, with hope and joy and love shining out of his eyes, and his first thought is that he was rude.

 _Oh my dearest loveliest darling,_ Johann thinks.

So Johann just says, “I love you too,” and they kiss and kiss and kiss like there’s no tomorrow.

* * *

Mia gets the invitation about a month later. In bold flowing script, it says, “High Royal Highness Prince Charmont of Kyrria is pleased to announce his upcoming nuptials to Doctor Johann Friedrich Struensee. You are cordially invited to attend on . . .”

In tinier font, a slight scrawl forms the words: “You were right. Thanks.”

Mia celebrates with ice cream and cookies. Because even a Queen needs some celebratory food here and there.

FINIS

**Author's Note:**

> I've read and re-read this thing so many times I can no longer tell if it's good or not, but hope you enjoyed it! Any comments would be more than welcome or you come say hi on [tumblr](http://thesilverqueenlady.tumblr.com)!


End file.
